Simply Complex
by Selfexpression
Summary: All of them were best friends, their bond unbreakable. Then stupid Potter and Evans went and fell in love, tearing all of them apart but bringing them all closer than ever. And then even more tragedy struck; James made a stupid mistake...


**AN**- _Please R&R! It's my new baby so please treat it nicely. _

**Disclaimer- **_All characters belong to** Jo K. Rowling**, with the exception of those you don't recognize._

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Prologue

(Chapter Song- "Boulevard of Broken Dreams" by Green Day

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"Calm before the storm" seems to be the parody of my life, ever more so on this cloudy October day with the quidditch stands brimming with students and professors. All at once everything seemed to quite and still as the neck and neck battle between opposing seekers fought in a race to get to the golden snitch. They all waited in baited breath, some muttering, others shouting encouragement tied with strings of curses at the opposing team. A messy haired boy leaned in for his prize of victory and the crowed of scarlet roared with approving joy. All this was drowned with a small buzzing in my ears. No matter how life seemed to be trying to push onward and ahead of me, like the two seekers, I wasn't ready.

Life seemed so different and alien now, like I was looking at everything around me through glass, observing and detached. What struck me scariest of all was that everything carried on as it normally would. Classes still rolled on, students still complained about the amount of homework, people cracked jokes here and there, and all in all the world was still moving day by aching day. A never-ending cycle that waited for no one. I however, was the only exception in the pattern that never broke; I was waiting.

I was waiting for something, no someone that would never come back. What was gone was clearly and inevitably, gone. But here I was, waiting and fighting to stay stuck, like one of those fish in a river that wants to go against the current but the water is just too strong so it ends up swimming and fighting but never moving. I was simply stuck.

Clearly I must be the only one who feels this way, because the individuals involved in these passed two years have moved on through life quite nicely. Remus Lupin is striving for his one passionate goal, Sirius Black is ever fighting off the attentions of his admirers, James Potter is beating himself to be the all time best seeker and captain he can be, Peter Pettigrew still yearns for the approval of his piers, Louise Domore screams and kicks on about how many assholes keep calling her a midget, and Alexander Beaumont is always trying to find that one thing. Me however, I live for the waiting. I have nothing left besides my studies and even they have become mediocre in the face of my personal demons.

Life is always filled with demons here in the wonderful school of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I wonder how I survived my years here and, considering this is my last year, I don't think I want to be leaving any time soon. Funny that bit, you'd think I'd want to be as far away from this hellhole of emotional pain, but it's quite the opposite. I could not imagine my life without Hogwarts.

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I was born a very loud and very odd girl. My mother tells me I began bawling the moment I was born, and I wouldn't stop till I was in my daddy's arms. Mommy Rosie and Daddy Ayden were the most loving pair you'd ever come across. I could never imagine another couple more perfectly fit for each other. Seriously, they were the perfect couple. Mother, the supportive and loving wife with her auburn hair and wonderful brown eyes, and father, the doting and ever loving husband with the dashing smile and chocolate hair. They were _perfect_ together, and that's the way it was going to stay.

My sister was the oddball out in our perfect family of plastic smiles and "How was your day?"s. She was bitter and crusty. Yes, crusty. Her disgust for me was obvious and no matter how painful it was to know that my own sister hated me, there was nothing I could do to change it. What was simply was.

Petunia Evans was a prissy piece of fluff. She entwined herself in gossiping, the latest fashion, and coming off trying to be popular. Sometimes I wonder how we are related, her with her blonde hair and cynical eyes, me and my red locks and wide, almost startling, eyes. Clearly there was no resemblance, and it definitely showed. Almost everywhere our family went strangers would say things like "My those two are different! Are you sure they are related?" at a younger age I use to wonder what they meant about being related, now I know. My mother would get all flustered at these comments and say in a disapproving tone, "I would think that I would know who my own children are, honestly!" I would stare up at her in wonder and my father would turn his kind and warm blue eyes onto me and say, "Don't fret beautiful, Mummy's just mad that people can't see how wonderful the two of you are."

When I was younger, those were the days I lived for. As you can probably tell, I was and always will be a daddy's girl. He was my world and he molded my imagination, always encouraging the belief in all things wonderful and beautiful. His nickname for me was beautiful. He once told me that the reason he called me that was because he hadn't begun to see beauty until he held me in his arms, squalling like mad, and rocked me until I was silent. He still goes on about how I stopped screaming the minute I was in his arms and how I opened my eyes and looked him right in the eye, forever sealing our fate as the closest daughter and father relationship possible. All this was wonderful, life was a joy and the devils that seemed to threaten others were far away from my dome of happiness and joy.

I never really got close to my mom or Petunia, I'm still not, and in a way I think that's why I don't get along with girls as well as I get along with guys. Daddy was all I had and all I really needed as far as I was concerned. I'm not exactly a tomboy by any means, but I do find girly conversations a bit disgusting. My father never tried too hard to expose me to boy stuff, he liked that I was a girl and gave me so much room to grow. He believed that he had to make our own mistakes and learn form everything you do. Sometimes I feel as though it was a bad thing, but I'm ever grateful anyway.

I grew up away from the hustle and bustle of the city and lived in a remotely rural town. Both my parents believed that the city didn't do any good to children still growing and learning. It could be otherwise for some but in our case it was definitely true. Growing up I went to school and made lots of friends, I guess you could say I was popular but I just think that people were curious about the oddball who was way too open for her own good.

Some would wonder why I was the way I was. What made this girl mumble snippets of one song and switch to another without a pause in between? What made this girl read as much as she did; it wasn't mandatory for English was it? Why did this girl listen to Bach records and rock hits at the same time, just to see what came of it? Who was the real girl behind the curtain of hair as red as wine and wide green eyes?

I never did have an answer to any of those questions, and I still don't.

Mom says I take after Daddy too much. What can I say? We prize our individualism at a high value and respect others with a taste for individuality. Under his gentle teachings and the soft sky, I flourished like a plant. Love, life, and strange new things to discover everyday; for me life was nothing short of heaven. As I grew older and reached the age when puberty was scratching into the edges of my anatomy and mind, I found a letter that would change my life, as I knew it.

One morning I was sifting through the post. My eleventh birthday was fast approaching and usually about this time Grandmamma sends a card and occasionally a few pounds. Hoping to catch a glimpse of Grandmamma's swirly handwriting, I eagerly read through the names on each envelope until one in particular caught my eye.

Green ink was splayed in a wavy array of calligraphy. I marveled at the old display of handwriting. It was too hard to write calligraphy in handwriting so someone must have either done it with an old fashion quill or they must have a lot of time on their hands. That's not what caught my attention though. The designated owner of the letter was clearly and unmistakably made out to one Lily Evans; me.

I was baffled at this mysterious letter. Who would be writing to me? All my friends lived close by and since we were a small town they could arrive at my door instead of write me letters. I poured over the possibilities of who it could be. Some long lost relative, or a secret admirer, maybe even an S.O.S. but instead of a bottle, it was written in a letter. I quickly dispelled all those childish ideas at the seal on the envelope. Animals were poised around an H in positions that said they were of some importance.

I opened it up, read what it said, and fainted. No, I just stood there gawking at it like some fish until my father began reading over my shoulder. He stood there sort of starting at it. Mom joined us to 'read what the little brat got in the post,' as Petunia put it. She was outraged.

"What kind of jest is this!?" Mom loved using old world terms.

"Calm down dear, maybe it's-"

"I wont have it Aiden! I wont! Someone calling our daughter a witch! I should report this!" She yelled in outrage. Petunia snickered at me and I sneered back at her. A little sisterly fight was suppose to be good right?

Eventually Daddy calmed Mom down and said that maybe it was true. That just got Mom madder than she already was.

"You of all people Aiden! Calling your own daughter a witch!" When all was calmed down - at least calm enough to the point where Mom was cleaning (she cleans when she's feeling emotionally over the top) and muttering under her breath - a man popped up in our kitchen. Quite literally he popped up and started rambling on about me being a witch. Mum screamed and threw the plate she'd been drying at him. I fainted.

That's the day when I first found out I was a witch. A bit rushed and thrown out yes, but it was really what happened. It seems that everything in my life is rushed at pivotal moments. My life tends to suck sometimes, don't blame me, I never asked for this living gig.

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James has just caught the snitch, giving Gryffindor the win. His messy haired form slowly swooped to the ground. He seems detached; the game he loves so dearly is not enough to sway the sadness within. _Good_. I hope he suffers. I hope he's slowly dying inside. I want to look away, but my eyes seem to be glued to his superb form. He draws me to him like a moth to a flame. Jerk.

I wonder if James can feel my stare, I'm sure it must burn. He deserves worse than my painful stare, he deserves to be ripped apart limb from limb. We had it all. Life was wonderful and filled with laughter. Why did he have to go and ruin it all? I could never let forever slip through my fingers with a calm wonder. This was his fault, so why should he be allowed to escape fixing the problems he caused? _It simply wasn't fair_.

He laughed and hi-fived another member of the Gryffindor house team. I watched as everyone gave congratulations on a wonderful play of moves on the field. I hardly noticed. I was too busy watching his face. How beautiful the groves of his face curved to form a picture perfect image. Oh, his eyes, I loved his eyes, the most startling shades of hazel and gray. When I looked into his eyes, I wanted to die. I decided from the day I met James that such lovely eyes could only exists in the most brilliant and great of people. Of course my thoughts quickly changed a few months ago.

I had no idea that my whole world would fall apart in less than two years of my life. It grew to the point where even Hogwarts was no haven. In fact, both school and home were complete emotional war zones. We were all scared, but at least we had each other. We had the ones we loved, our closest friends, and not so close enemies, but we had each other. In the end that was all that mattered. In the end, we would have no one.

How can something change form so sweet to the foulest of time in only two years? More importantly, what happened to us? To James Potter, Lily Evans, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, Peter Pettigrew, Louise Domore, and Alexander Beumort? Soon you shall see. You'll read and you'll wonder at our idiocy, question our intentions, and find the simple complexity that is life. Welcome to the simple complexity of Lily Evans.

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**AN**- _Please review! I now how hard it is to push that button and type a response but please do it anyway so that I know _someone_ is reading this._


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